Waking Up With a Heavy Heart From Exile

From exile, you always

wake up with a heavy heart

even when the news hits

you right with its promise

of murder and desire

of hope and language

that invade the throat

and the aroma of Colombian

coffee newly brewed

to perk you up

to make you welcome

the smile of the early hours

the smile of the young sun.

There is much to dream of

much to dream on and on

from here in these parts

as the rains of fall

pour down on you

like a purge cleansing your

soul lost to the foreign evening

you do not recognize

for the strangeness

of their scenes

and scent,

expelling the sorrow

residing in your chest

as you remind yourself

of the good days

coming on ahead

breaking their silences

to you in song

and sweetness.

You go through

the grind of labor,

eight hours or more

that extend to the night

to patch up the blank spaces

of news you put together

for the week

to wake the heavy hearts

of exiles,

those who do not know

any longer where to go

any longer where to run

they do not know

where they come from

what climate brought them here

what seasons brought them

to grieve over distances

bridging the lost time

marking their being away.

You wake up

with a heavy heart

from exile and still

you hear the ugly news

from home,

the tall tales

about not learning

the moral in singing

the morning song.

A.S. Agcaoili

Carson, CA

Nov. 12, 2005

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